when i see you again (jimin && sungjoo)
Jimin’s head was throbbing. He hated that his vanity was placed this close to the entry of the stage. The loud speakers thumped painfully next to him, and it caused a headache almost every single night. Reaching forward, the black-haired male’s fingertips gripped the bottle of Tylenol, and uncapped it. He sighed realizing he only had but a few left -- 3 lonely white pills slinking around the bottom. He poured them all in his palm and swallowed them down dry, throwing the empty bottle in the trashcan under his makeup table. Flicking his eyes back up, he met his own reflection in the mirror. A coal color substance lined them, a small flick of a wing exaggerating the length of his lashes. His foundation routine turned out flawlessly against sun kissed skin, and in the place of blush, laid glitter.
Golden glitter painted his collarbones, and even smeared against his abs. His hair was tousled, and messy purposely and he was finishing the final touches. Jimin captured a tube of deep red lip liner, tracing the borders of his plump lips, a lip stick and gloss just as rich in color followed soon after. Rubbing his lips together to spread out the product, Jimin never broke eye contact with the mirror. He felt like he was looking at a picture of himself rather than the real thing. He had no bags under his eyes, the redness that usually plagued beside his nose was as smooth and tan as the rest of his skin, and his normally tired looking eyes looked sultry rather than fatigued.
He felt like an entirely new person. He looked -- perfect. Far from what he felt -- he felt like he was going to keel over any second and sleep until his last day. He was so tired. A chill ran up his spine when he felt fingers grip his shoulders and squeeze, meant to feel therapeutic and relaxing but rather made him feel out of place. He flicked his eyes up to the owner of said hands and saw none other than his cousin, Hanbin, above him. “You look,” Hanbin began, his eyes raking from the top of the younger’s head and downward until the mirror didn’t allow anymore, “amazing,” he finished.
Despite Jimin’s discomfort, he smiled softly, “thank you, hyung.” Jimin figured that would be the last of it, and hoped Hanbin was done, but the elder wasn’t, and rather leaned forward to see the rest of Jimin’s attire, which had only been a velvet black choker around his neck, tiny leather black shorts that hugged his ass and seemed to bring out the curves of his body. Lastly, only matte black doc marten’s adorned his feet, finishing off his elegantly rugged look.
“You need to start tucking your dick in more,” Hanbin suggested, and Jimin couldn’t help the immediate scoff, “your appeal, my dear cousin, isn’t your package, but rather your femininity and how pretty you are.” Jimin pursed his lips, staying quiet and just listening as Hanbin talked and critiqued the things he disliked about Jimin’s appearance, yet, Jimin didn’t remember asking. “Sookja is coming off stage now, and you’re up in about five minutes, so why don’t you go get in your place,” Hanbin proposed, to which Jimin immediately stood, checking his appearance only once more. Before he could move toward the entry of the stage, he felt a light hand on his waist, and he exhaled gently, closing his eyes as he felt his cousin’s breath against his neck, “knock ‘em dead, baby boy. You know you’re my star.”
Jimin’s jaw clenched, swallowing thickly around his dry mouth. Jimin gave a curt nod, breaking away from Hanbin’s grasp and immediately traveled the path to the center of the stage. There was no curtain, or fixture that shielded him, only a darkened stage where his silhouette was shown. He wrapped his fingers around the pole in front of him, pressing the inside of his thigh against the cool metal in a starting position. The constant murmuring of the people in front of him came to a stop as the announcer began to speak. Jimin felt so bad tonight, and usually, he loved the spotlight. He loved every bit of his job, the attention, the dancing, the money. But right now? He’d rather lay in his bed an eternity. Soon enough, the announcer was calling his name, “Jay,” (unoriginal, and not all that sexy, but when he picked it, that’s all he could come out with), and a soft red light was beaming down on him. He heard the loud cheers of the people below him after his name had been called, must have been regulars. His leg wrapped around the pole, and he lifted his cherry red lips into a wicked grin -- and the dancing begins.
